


Hold My Hand

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [130]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Camelot is big and loud and scary okay, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Gen, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Merlin is a Disaster Gay, Merlin is a Little Shit, Overstimulation, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Soft Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), can be platonic or romantic you decide, the anxiety kind not the sexy kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25648462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: Coming to Camelot from Ealdor is one hell of a culture shock, that’s for sure.There's just so many things now and Merlin has no idea how to cope with it. Luckily, he's got Gaius and Gwen. They're enough to keep his head above water.Then there's a feast and Merlin is alone.
Relationships: Gaius & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [130]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 20
Kudos: 663





	Hold My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> they somft

Fandom: Merlin (BBC)

Prompt: “Could you hold my hand?”

* * *

Coming to Camelot from Ealdor is one hell of a culture shock, that’s for sure.

For one, it’s a different _kingdom._ Merlin always seems to forget that. Magic is legal in Cenred’s kingdom, where Ealdor is, and, er, let’s just say Camelot’s policies are…different. Walking into the city only to immediately stumble upon an execution _of a sorcerer_ was, you know, not ideal. And there are so many different things that rush through Merlin’s head every day he’s in Camelot.

For another, it’s a city. A proper city, bustling with people and goods and gold and more things than Merlin’s used to seeing in a few years all within a block of each other. Camelot is a far cry from the tiny village of Ealdor and there’s so much of _everything._

Merlin’s not too proud to admit he gets a little thrill every time he walks outside and sees just how much there is. He’s still excited when he gets to walk around with Gaius—not that he’d ever admit it—and just _see_ everything. He’s sure it’ll wear off eventually, but as of right now…it’s just so _cool._

Comes with a few drawbacks, though.

Despite what _some_ people might say—a certain prat, perhaps—Merlin isn’t very good at not knowing what to do. Especially when it comes to social customs. Hell, the way he met that prat in the first place was because he went mouthing off on someone he probably shouldn’t have—no, he doesn’t regret it, yes he would do it again—and look where he is now. He comes from a place where they’re pretty much one big family. You’ve got your cousins that you _do not like,_ you’ve got your siblings where you love them but _gods_ can they get on your nerves, and everyone else at least knows enough to give you a smile and a kind word. Not here.

Here, there are so many rules and customs and things that Merlin didn’t know existed and he has to frantically try and juggle all of them while also hiding his magic while also fulfilling his destiny and it’s a lot, okay?

He’s lucky. He knows he’s lucky. He actually managed to break through some of the prat-ness of Arthur and they’re actually kind of becoming friends. Which is good because Merlin has no idea what a servant is _actually_ supposed to be like so he’s just going to sit next to Arthur and be his friend.

He thinks he’s doing a pretty good job, all things considered.

The other great thing about Camelot is Gaius.

Merlin’s never had anyone he can _ask_ about things. Magic things. Sure, his mum’s great, but even she told him that she really had no experience when it came to magic and that she would help him, but he had to do most of the exploring by himself. Then of course that became dangerous and—well, you get the picture.

Gaius knows so many things Merlin’s half-convinced he’s a walking library for the kingdom. Or at least for the king. He’s on the Council, he’s the Court Physician, he’s had experience with magic.

He’s also the closest thing Merlin’s had to a father.

But there are other things he can’t get from Gaius. He’s close to him, certainly, because someone willing to take in a sorcerer right under the king’s nose and Merlin’s going to take the attitude of ‘ah, yes, you are now my family and I will die for you,’—“You’ll lay down your life for a sick weasel, you stupid boy.”—the point still stands, but there’s a line with Gaius. He’s older than Merlin by a _lot_ and he’s not exactly what you’d call, er…Merlin’s always gotten along better with people around his own age.

That’s why he’s glad he has Gwen.

Gwen’s the first friend he made in Camelot and she’s certainly the best. She’s a servant, like him, and unlike him, she knows the rules and the duties and all the fussy little things inside and out. She’s incredible. Merlin all but pleads with her to give him a crash course in what he absolutely _needs_ to know after that whole mess with the tournament. She obliges and it’s the best decision he’s ever made. Not only does he actually know some things now, but he also gets to spend more time with Gwen. She’s funny, she’s bright, she’s wicked sharp, and she’s kind. Relentlessly kind.

They bond over being commoners sucked into the strange mess that is the Pendragons, the sibling-like nature of Morgana and Arthur’s relationship, and the hectic nature of living in Camelot. They pair up during big feasts and stay by each other’s sides as much as they can, whispering and laughing together.

That’s the other great thing about Gwen. She’s the only thing that helps keep him sane during the loud nights.

Merlin’s a country boy. The loudest thing he’s used to is old Mrs. Poshmark’s kettle whistling off every noon and the occasional howl of a wolf from outside.

Feasts in Camelot are deafening to him.

He confesses this to Gwen when she finds him outside one night, holding his head. She promises to help him keep an eye on how loud it’s getting for him. Add the smells and the lights and Merlin’s not going to be having a good time at every feast. In return, he helps her avoid the lords and knights that have a bit too much to drink and think it’s a good idea to paw at a servant. He receives more than one grateful look from Gwen and even a thank-you from Morgana.

Then there’s Arthur.

Arthur is…interesting, to say the least, where Merlin’s concerned. He’s been raised to be a prat, that’s for damn sure, but Merlin’s not entirely convinced he’s meant to be one. Sure, he’s an absolute arse at times, but what royal isn’t?

But he believed Merlin about Valiant.

He stood up for Merlin and saved his life.

Hell, he went on a quest and _risked_ his life to save Merlin against his father’s wishes. And they’d only known each other for, what, a _week_ at most?

It’s enough to make Merlin want to stick around, see if that dragon really is talking some sense.

They’ve fallen into a strange sort of routine. Merlin’s pretty sure half of the barbs they trade back and forth are what he and Will used to do. At the very least, he’s stopped being _quite_ as rude to Merlin. And to everyone, for that matter. Merlin scolded him when he saw how Arthur treated the other servants, much to _their_ surprise. And yeah, he’s not too big to admit it did take him back a little bit when he saw Arthur’s behavior change. But it’s…it’s kind of nice.

It also doesn’t help than the man is _bloody_ attractive.

But let’s _not_ focus on that.

The point is: Ealdor is small, Camelot is big, and Merlin has no idea what he’s supposed to do about it.

He muddles through, for the most part. It helps that he barely has enough time to freak out about everything, what with how busy Arthur and Gaius and magic and destiny keep him. He’s running around from dawn ‘till dusk, sometimes even further, just to keep his head above water.

Then there’s a feast and Morgana falls ill.

Merlin half expects them to cancel the feast but no, Uther is determined to have it. Some peace treaty or some such thing that _really_ is just an excuse for Camelot to show off.

He makes a point to take an extra dose of medicine and a sore throat toddy up to Morgana’s room. Gwen opens the door and beams when she sees Merlin’s arms laden with things.

“Oh, Merlin, you didn’t have to do this,” she says, quickly helping him unload his arms, “I would’ve been happy to do it.”

“You’re busy enough as is,” Merlin argues, setting down the bottle of medicine, “and I was coming this way anyway.”

“Gwen?”

Gwen turns around, seeing Morgana’s head rising a little off the pillow. She hustles back to the bedside, helping Morgana prop herself up on her pillows. Morgana narrows her eyes at Merlin’s blurry figure.

“Merlin? Is that you?”

“Yeah.” He waves. “Just bringing you things.”

“You’re too sweet,” Morgana says with a smile, “though you should stay over there. Don’t want _you_ getting sick too.”

Merlin coughs. “Actually, er, Gwen? Gaius told me to tell you that, er, you might have to stay here.”

Gwen nods. “I expected as much. It’ll be easier for me to take care of Morgana and that way I don’t run the risk of getting the castle sick.”

“Oh, but that’s not fair to you?” Morgana looks up at Gwen. “Shouldn’t you be free to go—“

“It’s no trouble,” Gwen assures hastily, a nervous smile on her lips, “I don’t mind.”

“But you’ve done so much for me already!”

Merlin watches with an amused smile as Gwen fidgets with the fabric of her skirt, trying to find the words she wants. He’s teased Gwen _plenty_ about it already.

“I don’t mind, My Lady,” Gwen says finally, “I…really.”

Morgana seems to accept it, however begrudgingly, smiling softly at Gwen and accepting the hot toddy. Over the rim of the goblet, she looks back at Merlin.

“Tell Gaius thank you, for me,” she calls, “won’t you Merlin?”

“I will.”

“And enjoy the feast tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right!” Gwen looks at Merlin too. “Will you be alright?”

Merlin nods. “It’s just one night, it can’t be that bad. Plus, you two should be just fine. I’ll bring up some food.”

“You really are too sweet, Merlin,” Morgana laughs, “isn’t he, Gwen?”

“He sure is.”

Merlin coughs again, trying to hide the bright red tips of his ears. “I’ll—I’ll be back.”

He leaves them giggling behind him as he makes his way to the kitchens. A faint smile stays on his face as he thinks about how they’ll spend their night together, far away from the prying eyes of the rest of Camelot. Good for them. They’ve earned it.

“Merlin!”

Merlin blinks. It’s Arthur.

“Job for you.”

“In a minute,” Merlin says, stepping around him, “got to finish this one first.”

Arthur frowns and Merlin can hear him trailing behind. “You’re _my_ servant, who’s giving you orders?”

  
“Morgana and Gwen need food,” Merlin explains, ducking into the kitchens, “hang on.”

He expects Arthur to have stormed off or something by the time he emerges with a tray, but he’s still there, leaning up against a pillar. Merlin’s eyebrows climb to his hairline and stay there as Arthur follows him to deliver the tray.

What is going on?

As soon as Merlin shuts Morgana’s door again, Arthur visibly perks up.

“You done?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, giving him a strange look, “now what was that all about?”

Arthur shrugs. “Didn’t want you running off without letting me tell you what your job is. You know, ‘cause that’s _your_ job.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, missing the way Arthur’s smirk softens into something more like a fond smile. “As if you’d ever let me forget.”

“Good.” Arthur claps him on the shoulder and tells him to follow Arthur back to his chambers. “You’re dressing me.”

“The feast doesn’t start until sundown!”

Arthur sends Merlin a look over his shoulder. “And when was the last time you looked out a window?”

Merlin opens his mouth to retort only to see that yep, the sun is just about touching the horizon. “…oh.”

“Yes, _oh,_ Merlin. Come on.”

Dressing Arthur is one of Merlin’s least favorite things. One because you really should know how to dress yourself. Really. He knows five-year-olds that can do it.

Two because he has to get really close to Arthur. Like…really _close._ And Arthur is too attractive for his own good sometimes and it’s not fair.

Thankfully, or not thankfully, he’s too preoccupied with worrying about the feast to focus too much on how close he is to Arthur right now. Normally he hides away for a little bit before the feast just to let his head clear, sit in the quiet. And of course, he has Gwen to keep him grounded at most feasts.

He doesn’t have Gwen tonight. And he’s not going to get her. _And_ he’s not going to have much time to himself before the feast starts.

He’ll be fine.

“Hmm, didn’t take you an hour like it did last time.” Arthur kind of sounds like he’s underwater.

“Merlin?”

How long is the feast again?

_“Merlin.”_

Merlin blinks. Arthur’s staring at him in his finery and he looks…concerned?

“Are you alright?”

“Hm? Yes, yes, I’m fine.”

Arthur looks suspicious. “You’re not acting like you normally do.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Just thinking.”

“You? Thinking?” When Merlin doesn’t toss a jab back, Arthur comes closer. This doesn’t help anything. “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

Merlin nods. “Everything’s fine.”

Everything was not, in fact, fine.

The feast is even louder than Merlin remembers. Every time a jug clatters onto something or a dish hits another dish, it’s like a sledgehammer in Merlin’s skull. The smell of the ale and the wine make his head spin and not in a good way. The food smells too much, the laughs are too loud, and the lights are too bright.

Merlin’s caught in a whirlpool and he’s sinking.

He longs for Gwen, for Gaius, hell, even for the pesky dragon. Anything to get him out of the hall.

He has to follow Arthur around for a little bit, just to make sure his glass never runs dry and he looks the part for the other lords. But then Arthur leaves and he’s alone, alone in a room full to the brim.

Surely…surely they won’t miss one servant, right?

His hands and knees are shaking by the time he actually makes it far enough away to breathe. He collapses onto the stairs. It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he feels like he’s floating in his own body. He needs—he needs something. He needs something to ground him.

Because that’s the other thing about Camelot. No one touches anyone else.

Merlin doesn’t understand it. Humans _need_ touch, they’re herd animals. Everyone holds themselves at arms’ length here and he counts on the slaps from Arthur and the occasional hug from Gwen to keep himself sane. To keep him grounded.

He’s floating.

“Merlin?”

He startles terribly, looking up to see Arthur, in all his glory, staring down at him. It can’t even be a fellow servant who’ll take pity on him, offer him a kind hand, or even a hug. No, it’s Arthur.

Arthur eases himself down onto the step next to Merlin, eyes raking over Merlin’s form. Checking for injuries, probably.

“I saw you leave,” he says softly, and maybe he’s not as unobservant as Merlin likes to say—he’s not, he’s really not, he’s much cleverer than most people give him credit for—because he keeps his voice low and it’s the nicest thing that’s happened today, “you’re not alright, are you?”

Merlin barely has enough brain left to register the question. Less to shake his head minutely.

Arthur accepts it with a nod but he doesn’t do anything. Doesn’t tell Merlin to suck it up, doesn’t scold him, just…shifts his weight on the step a little. Looks around.

“I think you’ve got the right idea,” he says finally, “some peace and quiet. It’s all a bit…relentless, isn’t it?”

That’s one word for it.

He’s so close. He’s right there. Merlin could just…reach out. Touch him. He’d get shrugged off or worse but it might be enough. It might.

But maybe not. Maybe not and he’ll just make it worse.

“Merlin?”

Arthur’s staring at him again.

“What is it?”

“What?”

“You’re staring,” Arthur says quietly, no malice in his voice, “what is it?”

Something takes hold of the muscle under Merlin’s tongue and pinches.

“Whatever it is,” Arthur says, “you can ask me.”

His surprise must show on his face because Arthur smiles kindly. “I can see it on your face, Merlin. I can see that it’s bothering you.”

See? Observant.

Wait, does that mean he’s been paying attention to Merlin?

“Ask me what you want to ask, Merlin,” he repeats, “go on. It’s alright.”

Merlin swallows. “You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t.”

He can’t help the disbelieving huff.

Arthur rolls his eyes fondly. “I give you my word, I won’t laugh.”

“Could you hold my hand?”

Judging by Arthur’s expression and Merlin’s _immediate_ regret, he wasn’t expecting that.

“I—I—it’s a lot,” Merlin stammers, “and I’m not used to it, and—and Gwen’s not here and she can’t—I mean it’s not too much normally but I—I can’t—“

_Can’t speak, is that what we’re trying to say here?_

Arthur doesn’t have to hold his hand.

He doesn’t have to cut Merlin off by offering his own hand, palm up, waiting patiently.

He doesn’t have to smile when Merlin places his shaking hand in his.

He doesn’t have to cover Merlin’s hand with his other one, drawing it into his lap.

He doesn’t have to cradle it like it’s some precious thing, like _Merlin’s_ some precious thing.

His grip doesn’t have to be tight and the most comforting thing Merlin can remember.  
  
He doesn’t have to stroke Merlin’s hand with his thumb or squeeze back tenderly when Merlin has to double-check if this is real.

He doesn’t have to do any of those things.

But here they are, on the steps, shoulder to shoulder, Merlin’s hand clutched in Arthur’s, safe in Arthur’s lap.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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